


Saturate Your Heart, Can I Call You 'Home'

by randifrnZ



Series: A Sprawling Metropolis [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Growing feelings, I didn't mean for this to be the slowest of slow burns to the smut but it is, I promise the smut is coming one day but they wanted to take it slow and I'm respecting that, I toiled over the title, Marital fluff, No Angst, Slow Burn, because that it where my heart is right now, bed sharing (per usual), it's basically just a Winterfell roadtrip for 20k so I hope that's ok, travelling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-11-07 23:02:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20825261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randifrnZ/pseuds/randifrnZ
Summary: Six months after the marriage of the Bastard Prince to the Daughter of the North, along with the Hand of the King and his family, the future King and Queen of Westeros travel to Winterfell and the Wall to pay an emissary visit to the North. Through their travels, true affection and companionship bloom between the young nobles. This marriage, born from duty and for the stability of the Seven Kingdoms, may still be filled with love and joy and friendship.





	1. Hitting the road

**Author's Note:**

> This part ended up so much longer than I meant. When it's done it will clock in at around 20,000 words, which is blowing my mind right out of the water, especially since when I got to the end, I realized there really wasn't a plot other than roadtrip and falling in love/growing companionship. Which is like crack to me in fanfics, so I really hope you guys enjoy this story as much as I did writing it. There's a bit a time jump from the last part to this one just to get the story moving.

Arya Stark could picture Winterfell with near-perfect clarity when she closed her eyes and imagined she smelled snow. It had been near four years since she had been there, but she could see the gray walls of the castle, hear the winter winds beating against the windows of her room with Sansa, and feel the sticky steam rolling off the surface of the hot springs in the godswood. That castle wrapped itself around every memory of her childhood. From first steps to first scrapes and from tears of joy to tears of rage, Winterfell held it all. 

As father prepared for the departure of their family from King’s Landing to Winterfell, Arya could not stop herself from buzzing about the stables and the kitchens and the courtyards and anywhere else others were busy and getting ready. 

Her excitement was shared by the many Northmen who had joined her father during their time in the south. They too missed the cold, dry air of the north and wished for reprieves from the never-ending sun of the Crownlands. They did not, however, appreciate the future queen of the Seven Kingdoms getting underfoot while they worked. They could not very well shoo her away! They adored their princess and her sweet and genuine interest in their work, but how was one to finish saddling the horses or store the last of the dried meats in their proper trunks while the princess asked detailed questions on how and why each step was taken with everything they did. She was insatiable for knowledge, but there was work to be done! There must be a stable hand or a guard who has other far more interesting tricks of their trade that she could ween from them. 

Princess Arya, Gerad the stable master knows more about Dornish sandsteeds than anyone else outside of Dorne. He would be happy to share everything he knows!

Arya was swift to seek out this Gerad with his extensive knowledge of the beautiful beasts from the far south. However, she was intercepted by her brother Bran.

“Sister,” he called out to her as she attempted to weave through the servants scurrying across the courtyard, making their last preparations.

Arya whipped her head to her brother. At three and ten, he was already of a height with her. Her five and tenth name day had just passed, and she was displeased with her own lack of growth. She had only grown two finger widths taller Bran had grown a whole hand’s width taller. Even little Rickon had grown more than she. She had stopped keeping track of Sansa’s height when she had outgrown their mother. What was the point when she was never going to catch up?

Arya let Bran catch up to her in the courtyard of the Red Keep. He was smiling, but he was always smiling so she could not gauge the news he brought. 

“Mother said she wants you in the wheelhouse at least for our departure,” he said with only a slightly mocking tone. “She said after that she knows she won’t be able to keep you off a horse for a whole month’s journey.” He paused to let her scoff, which she did. “She sent me to fetch you because she knew I would be the least likely one you’d kick for dragging you to the carriage.”

Arya put her hands on her hips and raised an eyebrow at her dear brother. “True as that may be, you’re going to have to drag me, as you said. I don’t want to leave the castle for half a year and the last thing these people see is their little lady princess waving happily from her pretty little carriage. I will be riding alongside my husband and our father, and we will show them the woman matters, too.” 

Bran met her hard stare for only a few moments before he rushed forward to swoop her over his shoulder. They would have been making quite the disturbance if not for the servants being grateful to be left to their work in peace from the inquiries of their princess. Oh, they loved her dearly and preferred her under their feet than a spiteful little thing like the last prince had been, but patience wears thin when important work is interrupted.

Arya surprised Bran by leaping over him as he dipped to grab her around the legs to sling her over his shoulder. Bran whipped his head around in time to see her duck and roll, landing on a bent knee and a wicked smile over her shoulder for Bran. He smiled back for a moment before she got to her feet and broke out into a full sprint. Bran began after her through the courtyard, servants and guards parting on instinct for the two siblings. 

“I agree with you, dear sister,” Bran called as he heaved for breath. “Alas, it is not I you need to convince.” Arya turned to enter back into the castle. Once Bran caught up to the corridor, he could neither see nor hear where Arya went. He knew she enjoyed games and would never deprive herself of seeing her victory, so he continued his lecture into the seemingly empty hallway. “This will likely be mother’s last time in King’s Landing for many years. She will be hard to convince on leaving on any terms other than exactly what she thinks is proper.” He peaked around a corner that revealed itself to be bereft of a single soul. “Maybe, it will be more prudent to appease her this time and then do as you please when no longer under her scrutiny?”

“We will see what shall happen when the time comes,” Arya said from behind him, and he thought he would die from the fright it gave him.

Bran did not think that answer meant that their journey would begin smoothly. 

-

As it had it, Arya managed to leave King’s Landing on a stunning dusty mare beside her prince husband and lord father but in a dress picked out by her mother. It was a compromise that satisfied neither. 

Arya smiled over to Gendry and to her father on the other side of Gendry. Her father refused to put any weight to either side of the argument and so pointedly did not meet Arya’s gaze. Gendry stared ahead with the sourest of his faces, far too nervous and uncomfortable under the gaze of the hundreds of thousands of people of King’s Landing gathered to see the procession leaving with their prince and princess. 

Arya straightened her back and raised her chin the way she had seen her lady mother do when presenting in front of their subjects. She brought her horse closer to Gendry’s than was strictly proper. She released one of her hands from her reigns to reach out to Gendry. She managed to grip her hand on top of one of his and squeeze it. 

He did not turn to her, but his shoulders loosened and he turned his hand over to return her squeeze.

He could not smile in that moment, so she would for the both of them so their people would not think them too dour.

-

Once out of the city, the energy of the procession drastically improved. The travelers shed most of the necessary perfunctory propriety, and no one was yet saddle sore from the journey. 

Arya loved to see the children of their staff running around playing in the wild grass fields along the King’s Road. The journey would take nearly a month, and these children would see many wonders they had likely never seen before. Arya remembered her journey down this road. There had been some truly awful moments, but there had also been many wonderful as well. There were all the new flowers she had seen and the trees with bark she never could have imagined. It all gave her a thrill she loved. 

Gendry was slower to appreciate the wonders of their travels. 

He sat slumped on his horse, swatting at bugs as they tried to buzz into his eyes and mouth and nose. 

Arya smiled at his gloomy attitude. 

“I thought you were getting more comfortable on a horse, husband,” she called to him.

“You can try to find me the largest, sturdiest horse, and I will still feel like it will unseat me as soon as it feels like it,” he called back as he nearly toppled himself from his saddle when he swatted his own face to try to catch a particularly persistent fly. It continued to buzz around him.

“It’s because you haven’t named it yet. You both will get along better and learn to trust one another once you do.” Arya stroked the mane of her mare. She had named it Visenya after the great Targaryen warrior queen. They had been getting along very well in Arya’s opinion. 

“I’ve been calling him destrier because that’s the type of horse he is.” Gendry tried to pet the horse’s mane as Arya had, but the horse whinnied and shook his head from the touch. Gendry frowned at the horse and then turned his frown toward Arya.

She could not help but laugh at his dismay and urge Visenya into a cantor away from him. He was hopeless with horses, she decided.

-

The procession made camp after the long first day’s journey. They would not be able to sleep indoors for a sennight when they would reach the Crossroads Inn. Arya would have preferred not to stop there at all, but the steward determined the route and all the stops along the way were and he insisted it was the most advantageous stop for the pacing of the long trip. 

Arya and Gendry were preparing for their night’s rest in their tent. It was spacious enough with room for their trunks, a small basin for cursory bathing, a few torches to light their evening, and a simple cot to share. It was much smaller than the feather bed they shared in the castle, and that meant there would be little room to spare between them. Arya, far more used to the physical toll of horse riding, was able to change into her light nightshirt quickly and without much trouble. 

Gendry faced away from her and appeared to be struggling with the task. He had removed his jerkin and shirt just fine, but he could not manage to lean over enough to remove his trousers himself. He had a very wide back, she thought, as he strained and groaned trying to arch forward toward the laces of his boots.

Arya took pity on the man when she heard his quiet whimpers for his saddle sore bum. 

“Do you require assistance, husband?” Arya called to him.

“Please,” he let out as he looked over his shoulder to her with the same sad frown from earlier. 

This time she could not resist the look. 

She walked around him to his front, dropping low to his boots. She worked his laces and widened the upper lips of each boot. She then reached up, took hold of either side of his already loosened leather trousers, and pulled down hard. The trousers came down to around his knees and his small clothes came down only a few inches with it, not revealing much more than a thick dusting of curly hair Arya had assumed existed but had not yet seen on her husband. All the same, Gendry still let out an embarrassed squeak and grabbed to pull his small clothes back up.

“Arya,” he whined. 

“Gendry,” she mocked back. It was too easy to upset his delicate constitution. “What did you think helping you remove your trousers for bed would be?”

“I thought it would have a little more warning and care for my modesty,” he griped, trying to toe out of his boots while also kicking his trousers the rest of the way off in a way that seemed very painful for him.

Arya squatted to push the pants all the way down so Gendry could easily step out of them. He backed up to the cot and gingerly, oh so gingerly, laid back across the bed perpendicular from how they would be sleeping. Arya approached to stand over him. His eyes were closed in sweet relief, and she watched him for a few moments.

“This is going to be a very long trip that will be made much longer if I try to take care of your modesty. We will be making camp more nights than not in this tent,” Arya leveled with him.

He cracked an eye at her. 

“I will go fetch the salve for your sores and your longest shirt that I can find. You’re going to want to let your bottom half breath through the night, so no pants tonight.” She raised her brows at him until he nodded, only pouting a little.

She retrieved the cooling salve from her trunk and rummaged through Gendry’s trunk for the longest and softest of his shirts that she could find. She brought them back to him, blowing out all the candles but the one next to her side of the cot. She laid them on his stomach and then crawled over the cot to her side. “I promise I won’t peak,” she said to the air before her as she sat on the edge of the cot facing away from him. 

She heard him snort and then groan deeply as the cot dipped with him getting up. “It’s not that I don’t want you lookin’ if you want to. It’s just, I worry sometimes you don’t realize what you might see in case that’s not something you want to be seein’.” Arya enjoyed the way some of his old accent from before they met would occasionally come back when he was particularly tired and feeling soft or nervous. 

She could tell the moment he started removing his small clothes because he let out a sharp groan as he let the loose garment fall, and she knew when the salve first touched his sore skin because of the prolonged sigh he let out.

“And, I also don’t want to be seein’ anything you might not want me to be seein’.” His voice was soft, and she liked his words.

“I appreciate your consideration, Gendry. I think our last six moons together have been rather simple with our routines and duties taking most of our time and attentions.” She could hear him grunting and fabric sliding against itself. “But this next moon will not allow so easily for the propriety of space and time. Less modesty between us.”

The cot dipped again and Arya felt the air swoosh as Gendry flopped down beside her on his side of the cot. Arya turned to him and saw him laying on his stomach and snuggling into his pillow.

“‘s fair. I must still be but a fair maid, nervous with my new bride. You must forgive me.” He smiled at her with half his face buried in his pillow. His hair looked soft. It was longer than the last time she looked at it this closely.

She situated herself down beside him, much closer than they usually slept. They had grown quite comfortable sleeping in the same bed since their marriage, but they always kept to their own sides. It had been easy with the large, wide bed in the Red Keep. 

In their cot, they were shoulder to shoulder. Thankfully, his warm shoulder covered in his soft shirt was comforting as it pressed against her, firm but yielding. She leaned up to blow out the last candle and then laid back down, pressing her shoulder against Gendry’s again and feeling his even breaths blow gently across her face.

“I forgive you,” she said softly into the dark tent with a smile.

“Thank you, m’lady,” he mumbled back with fondness in his voice.

She swatted him on his arse, and he yelped.

-

Each day, Arya would pick a bunch of flowers to present to Gendry, taking care to include a new type of flower each time. Every time, he would blush and thank her, and each time Arya would blush and laugh.

Sansa thought it improper to give her husband such tokens rather than the other way around. Gendry liked them, and Arya felt there was no need to deprive her husband of pretty things if she wanted to give him pretty things.

-

While being able to sleep somewhere with four walls and a roof was an improvement to the sleeping conditions of a tent, the memories that came with the Crossroads Inn were not worth it, Arya felt. 

She snipped at her father when they first arrived as they dismounted their horses. She saw that her mother noticed and prepared to correct Arya’s behavior, but her father stilled her with a glance. 

Arya was not mad at her father for truth, but she could not temper her agitation when memories both sweet and bitter tumbled back into her mind from places she thought forgotten. 

Sansa came up from behind her and linked their arms.

“Let us stretch our legs, sister,” Sansa spoke as she dragged a somewhat willing Arya away from the inn and toward quieter and grassier areas with two guards trailing behind them at a respectful distance to not overhear conversation. “We’ve muscles neglected and sore.” 

The girls sighed at the same time and then laughed at themselves. Arya tightened her arm around Sansa’s. 

“It’s been a long time since we were here last,” Sansa said as she looked forward. Arya watched her face. It was determined but a little sadness still shone through.

“I don’t like it here,” Arya said. 

Sansa hummed in agreement

They could hear the songbirds singing sweet songs and the brook nearby babbled cheerily in response. The evening sun gave off a gentle heat, and a crisp breeze brushed through their hair. 

It was rude that the place that held awful memories for both girls smiled back so happily to them.

This inn was where her friend Mycah had been run down. It was where she forced her direwolf away and where Sansa’s direwolf had been slain in her place. 

The betrayal in her Nymeria’s eyes flashed before Arya’s eyes just as the feeling of her soft, warm fur could be felt against her fingertips. 

Arya could remember that Mycah had red hair, but she remembered the hue of red of his blood on the back of the Hound’s horse more clearly.

“I’m sorry Lady died for Nymeria,” Arya said as they continued their path toward a nearby hill.

“She died for Joffery’s cruelty and his mother’s hatred. I should not have blamed you. Nymeria was brave,” Sansa squeezed Arya closer for a moment. She spoke earnestly into Arya’s ear, “And, so were you.” And then more loudly as they reached the top of the small hill that overlooked the inn on one side but gave view to the gray mountains of the Vale on the other, “Braver than any knight I have met since.”

Arya laughed and blushed at her sister’s compliment.

“For true, Arya! When you spun and swung his _stupid_ sword into the river, I thought I would never see something so foolhardy again. But, as the years went on with him and his cruelty grew, I would sometimes think back on that day and remember how easily he was disarmed and brought to tears and whimpers. How he was the fool.”

Where they stood, Sansa sank to the ground as indelicately as Arya had ever seen her, bringing Arya with her who gasped at the movement. Sansa laughed at Arya trying to right herself from the jarring movements. 

To Arya’s utter shock, Sansa laid down in front of her and threw her body down the hill, squealing in joy as she rolled to the bottom.

Arya immediately joined her and relished in her own squeals of delight. She bumped into Sansa when she reached the bottom of the hill. Sansa sighed contentedly as Arya caught her breath. Shoulder overlapping shoulder and dresses rumpled and dirty, they looked up at the blue sky that held only a few puffed up white clouds. 

“I miss Lady,” Sansa started softly. “But, I do like the idea that Nymeria is out there somewhere in the Riverlands with a pack of her own, pups of her own. I like to imagine one of them could be named lady.”

“I like that, too, Sansa. I hope she does.” Arya took a deep breath, and it felt deeper than any breath she had taken that day.

-

The family supped in the room shared by the Lord and Lady Stark, while the rest of the household ate in the dining area of the inn and around the fires and tents set up around the inn for those who would not fit within. 

The innkeeper had set up a table with large bowls of stew and several loaves of hearty bread in the middle of the lord and lady’s room. They had all started out sitting together, but as the meal went on Ned, Cat, Sansa, Bran, Rickon, Gendry, and Arya made themselves comfortable around the room.

Ned sat in the chair beside the fire with his reserved smile in place as he watched the most family in one room for a very long time. 

Cat and Sansa remained at the table discussing the potential marriage alliances Sansa may have before her in the coming years. Sansa had befriended a lovely daughter of Highgarden who spoke very highly of her brothers, and Sansa had heard many wonderful things about the region.

Rickon had devised a game with no name but consisted of convincing Gendry to see how many Starks he could carry before he collapsed. It began with Bran on his back, and then Gendry scooped Arya into his arms from where she had been sitting at the table listening to her mother and sister. When Gendry called victory, Rickon sprung to crawl up and over Bran and onto Gendry’s shoulders, causing both to stoop as to not crash Rickon’s head on the ceiling. Gendry strained with the effort, but he still stood. He tried to call victory once again, but Sansa got up from the table with a look on her face that Gendry did not like but Rickon liked very much. 

Sansa caught Arya’s eye, and Arya wriggled so she had one leg wrapped around Gendry’s waist and the other around Bran’s back with only one of Gendry’s arms wrapped under her bottom for support and her arms gripping around Rickon’s legs and Bran’s shoulders. Gendry heaved a great sigh and extended his newly freed arm to Sansa. With all the grace one could muster for such an act, Sansa grabbed onto Rickon’s leg and heaved herself up as Gendry lifted her into his arm and she wrapped her legs around Bran and Arya’s.

Holding four Starklings at once, the red-faced Gendry had created quite the abomination. Ned and Cat both let out uproarious laughter at their children’s antics. More than half of them were grown and knew far better, and yet it was hard to chastise them.

“Quite the use of the Baratheon might,” Ned called from his seat.

Gendry began to laugh but then stopped as his legs started to buckle.

“Abandon ship,” roared Rickon, who was in the worst position to escape the tumble that all could see coming but none could stop. Cat jerked from her chair to at least attempt to minimize the damage her children were about to take, but it was no use. Ned knew this and only winced as Gendry fell backward.

The room was a cacophony of screams and shrieks as the tangled web of Stark children failed to untangle themselves as they collapsed. In an act of sheer strength of will, Gendry managed to land on his arse and not on top of any of his good siblings or his wife. 

However, the Starks were not safe from themselves. With the exception of Rickon who had managed to remain on top of Gendry’s shoulders, the others let go together, slipping off into a groaning, whining pile of bruises with Bran on the bottom and his sisters tangled on top of him. 

Safely atop Gendry’s shoulders still, Rickon seemed to be the real victor of the game, at least until Gendry grabbed both his legs and lifted up, depositing him on top of his siblings and restarting the chorus of groans.

“I win,” Gendry said, out of breath, with his arms still raised from removing Rickon. 

Ned laughed, getting up from his chair and standing beside his wife, “Aye, lad. You did. But you need to carry them to their rooms now that you have broken them.”

Gendry groaned and heavily fell back on top of his pile of Starklings to all of their disapprovals. 

-

The still warm weather of the coming autumn did not necessitate the fire in their own room, but it filled the room with a pleasant heat that Arya enjoyed.

In King’s Landing in summer, there was rarely a real need for a fire like it would be in Winterfell. Arya looked forward to returning to her first home as she laid in the straw bed of the inn beside Gendry.

The bed was not as small as their cot, but she had grown accustomed to the press of his warm body against hers as she fell asleep. It was grounding and gave her sweet dreams.

His saddle sores bettered with each passing day as his body grew more accustomed to the riding, but he still needed to sleep on his front each night and use the cooling salve. Falling hard on his backside that evening with the weight of all the younger Stark children had done him no favors.

Arya turned on her side to better take in his sleeping form. The man could fall asleep faster than anyone else she knew. She lightly brushed some hair from his brow. He weakly swatted her hand in his sleep. Arya, in turn, tugged hard on a piece of hair, and Gendry wriggled like a fish for a moment before blinking awake.

When she seemed to come into focus in his eyes, Gendry groaned. “Why’d ya wake me, woman?” he griped.

“You fell asleep before me,” she said by way of explanation. 

Gendry buried his face deeper into his pillow, ignoring her. 

She tugged his hair again.

He groaned but did not reemerge from his pillow.

“Gendry,” she spoke quietly.

At her soft voice, Gendry returned from his pillow. Whatever he saw on her face, he turned onto his side with only a small wince to mirror her position beside him in the bed.

His eyes still held sleep, but they were entirely focused on her.

Arya picked at a thread of the sheet below them. When she glanced back up at Gendry, his brow was a little more furrowed but his eyes still gave her his full attention.

“This inn. I’ve been here before. When we came to King’s Landing from Winterfell.” Arya stopped, but Gendry just continued to look at her, one arm under his pillow and the other at his side. “I used to have a direwolf, Sansa did, too, but. We lost them here,” she whispered. A little more loudly, “I was playing with my friend Mycah, he was just the butcher’s boy and didn’t mean any harm, but Prince Joffrey saw us play fighting. He started hurting Mycah, but then Nymeria bit Joffrey to stop him.” She was angry now. “Mycah ran away, and Nymeria and I ran, too. But then, I sent her away, because I knew they would hurt her for hurting that stupid prince.” She felt tears welling up in her eyes. “She refused to leave me, so I threw rocks and sticks at her to get her to just go. Her eyes were so sad. She did what she was supposed to do, and I was throwing her away for it.” 

Her tears fell, and she felt Gendry pull her into his chest. They had not held each other like this, especially in their bed, but no awkwardness came, only comfort. She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his chest, wetting his shirt.

“She probably hates me,” she rasped.

“No, she doesn’t,” Gendry said above her.

“You don’t know that.” Arya squeezed her eyes as tight as she could.

“I do,” he said confidently. He was so warm and sturdy wrapped around her, and he sounded so sure.

Arya melted into Gendry and his reassurances. In a small voice, “On the Queen’s orders, Sansa’s wolf was killed when they could not find Nymeria.”

Gendry stroked her hair but did not respond.

“Today, Sansa told me she forgave me, and we made some happier memories here. I liked that. And, she said she hopes Nymeria found a new pack and has a pup named Lady like her direwolf.” Arya had a small smile at that thought.

“Is that what you want for her?” Gendry asked.

“I want her back,” Arya answered honestly. “But, if I cannot, I hope she has the biggest pack in all of Westeros and has all the pups she wants and names them anything she wants. With one named Lady for Sansa.” Arya heaved a great sigh and leaned back to look at Gendry.

His face was pinched and looking right back at her.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, surprised by his expression.

“Your story was sad, is all.”

“It gets sadder. My friend, Mycah, was run down and killed by the Hound. He was a guard for Joffrey who was sent away with them when they were exiled to Essos.” 

Gendry frowned and tucked Arya back against his chest. “That’s awful, Arya. I’m so sorry.”

She felt his words in his chest, and they staved off some of her sadness. Her hands fisted lightly in his shirt at his back. “And, no one but me seemed to care he died. He was just some butcher’s boy to them, not worth their thoughts. But, I cared. I hated that he died because he was caught between the nobles.”

Gendry scoffed bitterly. “The usual case for the smallfolk. We get thrown away and aside without any thought from nobles.” He paused for a moment. “I’m a noble now, too, aren’t I? Because someone thought to look at me and make it so.”

“It’s all such a foolish game everyone made up.” Arya loved talking to anyone and everyone because everyone was interesting and important. She did not see why some chose to look down on others based on their birth. 

Gendry took in a deep breath and let out a long sigh. “I’m sorry we’re in a place that makes you sad. We’ll be heading out tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” she let out a small sigh of her own. She then roughly nuzzled her face into his chest, letting out a frustrated groan. She rolled out of Gendry’s arms, flopping back onto her side of the bed.

Gendry laughed through his nose and mussed her hair before settling back onto his stomach. “Where will you show me first in Winterfell?” Gendry asked with his eyes closed and face soft and nestled into his pillow.

Arya smiled at the thought of her home, letting it banish away the memories of dreadful moments that could not be changed. “The battlements, of course. Best view of the land from there. Or, no. Maybe, you’d want to see the forge? They have a fascinating system of ropes that open and close the gates to the fires that are unique to the castle. But, there’s also the wolfswood, which has trees unlike any in the rest of Westeros. I’ll have to give it more thought,” she decided in the end. Arya continued to tither on as they both fell asleep to the sound of her voice.


	2. Gets Colder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is but a wife's duty to protect her husband. For a Northern Princess bringing her southern husband North, she must protect him with her whole self.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was actually feeling really tired after work today and didn't think I would have the energy to do my final edits for this chapter tonight, but then I started reading the lovely comments left on the first chapter and they made me so happy they inspired me to do the edits and so you have another chapter!!! I hope you guys enjoy!

Around when they pass The Neck the cold started to settle into the air. The beginnings of Autumn had only just started their whispers, but in the North, chilled winds rolled through the lands no matter the season. The Northmen still worshipped the Old Gods there, and those gods liked to speak as they rustled through leaves.

Arya found the chilling air invigorating, especially in the morning. The air smelled fresh, and dirt felt more firm under her feet. She relished in digging out her fur-lined cloak for it was the first time she had been able to do so in years. It smelled like pine and dust, and she could not wait to remedy that last smell with proper use of the garment. In truth, she did not yet need the warmth of her cloak, but it was cool enough that she could and so she did. The cloak had been made when she was a girl and was sewn to be long enough for her to grow into it, but she had in recent years grown so much that it now fell to just above her ankles. She hoped that during her visit she would be able to have a new one made, even if she would not be able to get much use out of it in the coming years in the south where winter did not grip so tightly as it did in the North. It was important to her nonetheless to have a proper Stark cloak, married woman or not. 

Gendry, the poor southern fool, could not join Arya in her excitement. He had dug out his Baratheon cloak days earlier when the Mountains of the Moon were still seen along the horizon. Fashioned in the southern style and therefore inferior, the cloak left Gendry shivering on his horse as they entered the Northern territory. 

As the nights grew colder, Arya and Gendry added extra furs to their cot. At first, this sufficed, and the two were able to sleep warm and comfortable. However, when they were nearly a sennight from Winterfell, Gendry’s shivering in the cot would not cease.

“Short from sleeping in your cloak, you wear your warmest clothes and we sleep with every fur in our tent. By the old gods and the new, how are you still shaking from the cold? How is your blood so thin and weak?” Arya was thoroughly unimpressed with her husband. 

They lay in their cot on their sides, facing each other inches apart and seeking the lingering warmth of their shared breaths between them. The walls of their tent broke most of the brunt of the forceful winds, but the chill could still be felt when a particularly strong gust whirled around them. 

“It is not my blood that is weak. It is your blood that is strange. To lay there and not shiver, I would say there is magic in the blood of you northerners. I don’t trust it.” His teasing may have held more bite if his teeth did not clatter his words together and make him sound like a rock thrown along a frozen pond, cracking and smacking and never sinking in.

Arya brought her warm hands up to his icy cheeks. “Say you take it back, or I will take my hands back.”

Gendry greedily nuzzled into the painfully hot heat of her hands. “I take it back. Give me your magic.”

Arya laughed and rubbed her hands up and down his face and neck in a way she could not imagine was comfortable, yet Gendry let out a contented groan. Arya eyed the way Gendry had tucked their shared furs around his head so only his face was visible and how he had pulled his body into a tight ball to conserve his heat. 

In King’s Landing, he was usually the one radiating heat beyond what should be bearable. Some nights, it rolled off him in waves, forcing him to remove his shirt just to be able to sleep. But in the North, the rules must have been different. The old gods played games they were not meant to understand.

“Gendry, you’re going to die in your sleep if you keep on like this.”

“No, I won’t. What would you want me to do about it anyway? Shiver harder? No, please, don’t take your hands away. I’m sorry, I’ll be nicer,” Gendry pleaded as Arya moved to sit up.

“Oh, shush. Turn around. I am going to make you warmer, the Northern Way.”

Gendry did as she bade, if for only that he could not resist at that moment any promise of more warmth. He began tucking his furs back around his neck when Arya yanked them away. He started a sound of protest that died in his throat as she laid along his back, pressing herself from head to toe against him. She wrapped a leg around his hip and her arms around his middle, pressing her hands across his chest over his heart. Within moments, his shivering stopped. 

“You’re magic, I swear it,” Gendry said with reverence as he wrapped one icy hand around the leg at his hip and the other laid over the hands on his chest.

“Damn southern fool,” Arya mumbled, but there was too much fondness for there to be any bite.

They both slept soundly that night despite the howling winds.

-

Gendry never seemed to grow accustomed to the northern cold and winds. For the rest of their journey, he required Arya’s warmth to survive each night, or so he said. 

They would either sleep with Gendry on his back with Arya draped near entirely over him or as they had that first night with Arya wrapped around his back. 

For the first few nights, Arya made Gendry ask for her to cuddle for her warmth because she always took a sweet enjoyment from making him squirm and relinquish his usual obstinate ways. She quickly, however, developed her own desire to sleep so closely with her husband. He was large and plush, and his arms around her were comforting in a way she could not fully describe yet. Alternatively, when she slept along his back with her arms around his chest and her hands held in his, it brought satisfaction to her that she protected and cared for him. For reasons she did not understand, breathing in the air at the back of his neck gave her sweet dreams that left smiles on her face come morning. He smelled like soap and boy and Gendry, and it seeped into her muscles each night loosening them deep, deep down. As they woke in the morning, she relished in feeling his groggy groans rumble against her chest.

The first morning they left their tent to find snow falling filled both with magic and wonder. Arya had not seen snowfall in years. It had been summer the entirety of her stay in King’s Landing, where it was rare to snow even in the longest of winters. Gendry had never seen snow before at all. He had only ever known heat and sweating and burns. 

As they exited their tent, Arya screeched in joy and broke out into a run to find her siblings to share in her excitement over the fresh snowfall. She stopped a few yards away when she did not hear Gendry’s footfalls behind her.

She turned back around to see him standing at the entrance to their tent, looking up to the sky with his mouth hung open. His awe and wonder at the snow made her smile. 

Arya made her way back to Gendry, dipping down to gather snow to form into a ball as she went.

When Gendry finally tore his eyes away from the steel gray sky dotted with the flurries of perfect fluffy snowflakes to look at Arya as she approached, she pelted her snowball at his face.

He scoffed and spluttered as he swiped the snow away from his face. “Seven Hells!” he exclaimed at her. As soon as he was able to open his eyes again and see Arya’s snickering face, he started toward her. She broke out into a run away from him, cackling in laughter as she led them toward her brothers and sister’s tents. That was where the real snow games would be.

-

The five young nobles managed to soak all their clothes to their skin. They pelted each other with snowballs and tackled each other to the ground without mercy. Arya laughed herself silly when Gendry lifted a squealing Rickon above his head and lobbed him bodily at Sansa, who only just barely turned in time to catch her littlest brother as they both fell onto the soft, snow-covered ground. Some of the children of the staff joined them. The games were only able to be stopped when parents, both high and low born alike, came to put an end to the madness. There was more journeying to be done. They were only a day from Winterfell, and if they kept it up it would be another week if the snowfall kept up.

-

Arya felt as if her heart would beat out of her chest as she caught the first glimpses of Winterfell on the horizon. She rode beside Gendry with father on his other side. The rest of her family rode in the carriage at their mother’s insistence. Gendry smiled over at her as they rode, and Arya smiled back. This was her home, and she could not wait to share that with him.

As the three rode through the gates of Winterfell, Robb stood proud in the courtyard in greeting with all the rest of the household staff behind him. 

After they dismounted and as they approached Robb, he maintained a stern face as he watched their father and Gendry. Arya recalled that Robb had gotten along very poorly with the last prince of King Robert. 

“Father,” Robb said in greeting. 

“Son,” father said back in the same tone.

They eyed each other for a few moments before both broke out in grins and embraced for the first time in years.

“You’ve grown so tall, Robb,” father remarked as he pulled away and tousled his grown son’s hair. 

Robb had been ruling the North in his own right for years, yet he still blushed and demurred at his father’s praise.

Father moved aside to gesture to Gendry. “This is Prince Gendry Baratheon, a trueborn son of King Robert, our future king, and husband to your sister.”

Robb looked to Gendry, to Arya, and then back to Gendry. “Your Grace,” Robb gave his deference to his future king. “I have heard good of you from my father and others. I look forward to seeing them for myself during your time in the North. It will be yours one day, and I hope they will be prosperous times.”

They clasped arms as Gendry said, “It’s good to be in the North. Arya speaks so highly of her home. I look forward to learning about the land and your people.”

They smiled at each other, and Gendry’s composure impressed her. She was sure he was nervous, but Robb’s challenging stare had spurred Gendry’s instinct to prove himself. 

As the two held arms for a beat too long, Arya huffed and stomped her foot to get their attention, wanting her turn to greet her brother. Both turned to her, and Robb broke out into a wide grin, dropping Gendry’s arm. 

“And, you, Arya! I nearly didn’t recognize you, you’ve grown so much! I’d say a foot at least.” Robb opened his arms to embrace her, and Arya leaped into his arms and hugged him tight to her.

“A foot and a half. Give me another year or two and I’ll be taller than you!” Arya said into his neck.

Robb put Arya down as he laughed. “We’ll see about that! You’ve got a lot of catching up to do if you want to be as tall as me.”

Arya wanted to tease Robb more, but their mother coughed as she approached from the carriage with their other siblings. 

At their mother’s stern look, Robb straightened and moved to greet them all as well. He hugged mother and kissed her cheek. He did the same for his siblings as they filed out of the wheelhouse. 

Arya moved to stand closer to Gendry, as Robb completed his duties. “How are you liking it so far?”

Gendry had an easy smile on his face that she had not seen before. It made her chest warm. “It feels like a home,” he said as he watched her family all together for the first time in over half a decade.

_Well, not everyone._ She felt a pang in her chest at the thought of Jon not being there.

As the Stark family and their staff made their way into the castle, Robb sidled up to Arya, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “I have a surprise for you, sweet sister,” he whispered to her with a smile, leading her toward the training yard and away from the rest of the group.

-

“Jon!” Arya squealed.

Jon Snow wore all black and a smile that could melt the Wall he swore to protect. He opened his arms wide for Arya, and she joyously complied, leaping into his arms and squealing again as he spun her around. 

“Little sister,” he breathed into her neck, and this more than anything else felt like home. Jon placed her back on her feet but kept his hands on her shoulders and his eyes level with hers. “You’ve grown so much,” he said it as if it hurt but also amazed him.

“And, you look so old! Your Wall is aging you too quickly,” Arya could not believe the lines on his face or the weight that rested in his eyes. At only twenty, same as Gendry and Robb, he wore his years far more heavily. Beyond that, though, she saw pride in his shoulders that had not been there last she saw him. He looked older, but he looked good. For that, she was happy.

“Aye, it has,” he laughed, and Arya could hear Robb laugh as well behind her. “They don’t care up there if you’re the son of a lord or some criminal you never knew, you do your part and you share the same fire as everyone else. You’d hate it.”

Arya laughed and swatted Jon’s chest, “I’m no craven! I’d do my part if I were at the Wall.”

Jon mussed Arya’s hair to her feigned annoyance. “Aye, you would. I only jest. You’d love it there.” He just smiled at her for a few more moments before straightening up and putting his hands to his hips. 

Arya straightened as well. Jon Snow was back in Winterfell. Everyone was home, and her heart swelled with the love that filled it. 

“Do you plan to visit the Wall while you’re here? We are already feeling the cooling winds of Autumn. There is no way to know how long winter will last, so this may be the only chance for years to come.” Jon looked at her with pride, and Arya felt herself puff up with the warm feeling it gave her. 

“Of course, we will. I have always wanted to look out from the top of the Wall. I have heard that one can see the edge of the world, and I would like to see it for myself. I know women are not allowed, but I am sure as their future queen that exceptions will be made, especially if the future king accompanies me. Though, I do fear he may perish from the cold. Jon, he is a weak southron boy. So unaccustomed to the north,” Arya laughed, but it faded as she saw Jon’s face first show a look of surprise and then fall in concern.

“I nearly forgot,” he said slowly with furrowed brows. “You’re a married woman now. Are you… Is he… Is he good to you, Arya?” Jon asked softly, eyes flickering to Robb over her shoulder and moving closer to her allowing her to answer quietly if need be.

Arya’s heart ached at her brothers’ concern. After the wedding, there was no way to let Jon or Robb know how truly good Gendry had been to her, especially that first night and every night after where he did not impose upon her to perform the duties of a wife. His patience with her was a direct risk to his claim to legitimacy and the crown. Their unconsummated marriage left him vulnerable, yet that was nothing to him compared to how vulnerable she was as his still very young bride. 

Arya took Jon’s hands in her own and gave him a reassuring smile. She turned to Robb and motioned for him to come closer so she could speak in low tones. “I will speak plainly, brothers, because I know what you ask. The night of our wedding, he bloodied the sheets from his own flesh and told me he would wait until I sought him. You must not tell another soul as this puts him at risk to those who may question his claim as the prince if they knew his alliance to House Stark could be annulled.” Arya squeezed Jon’s hands and waited for them to fully understand.

Jon worked his jaw for a moment and shared a glance with Robb before giving Arya a firm nod. “I’m glad to hear it, little sister. I am already a brother of the Night’s Watch, so I was prepared to run my sword through any little lordling, prince or not, who may not know his place with you as his bride. There is nowhere else for them to send me for such crimes.” Jon smiled his sad smile, and Arya returned it, just as sad. 

Robb added with a sly smile, “Though we still may roughen the boy up for good measure. We cannot have him questioning the consequences for any mistreatment to our little sister.”

“Of course,” Jon agreed with a grin.

“That boy is the crown prince and half a head taller than you both, and lest you did not notice upon our arrival, near twice as broad. May I advise caution before you exert any brotherly roughening of my husband, of whom I am, if nothing else, fond.” Arya gave them a hard look, but she could not hold it as the two grown men before her, one the acting Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North and the other a sworn brother of the Night’s Watch, withered and pouted under her stare.

“Oh, come along. We must rejoin the rest,” Arya said as she began to drag the two back into the castle. 

She could not hide her smile as they complied.

-

There was a great feast held for the welcome of their lord, their prince, and the princess as well as for the return of the rest of the Starks to Winterfell.

Their travels from King’s Landing had taken over a moon’s turn, which had been expected. They were to stay for four months before returning to the Crownlands, though that trek was expected to take longer as they would be ever closer to the looming winter that was coming. The North was preparing, but there was never truly enough to be done to prepare for a winter when none could ever predict how long it would last. 

Many of the smallfolk hoped that with a daughter of the North as the future queen, they would be more readily supplied with food and provisions if the winter dragged on. 

That night, as Arya prepared for bed in the largest of the guest chambers with Gendry, she lamented that she was not able to stay in her old chambers, where Sansa now slept.

“I wish we could have stayed in my girlhood chambers, but I suppose it makes more sense for us to be here instead.”

Gendry changed into his nightshirt as close to the fire as he dared, clearly basking in its warmth as he shed his clothes. He had grown accustomed to wearing the long night shift as opposed to a fresh tunic and breeches while recovering from his saddle sores. She thought he looked quite funny with the loose garment over his large frame, but he resisted her teasing, insisting the comfort was worth her sharp tongue. 

At her words, he looked around the room. “It’s a nice room. Fire is warm. Lots of furs on the bed.”

Arya changed at her trunk near the bed, not needing the warmth of the fire while she disrobed. “Yes, it has everything you need, but I was still hoping to take back at least some of the pieces of my old life. Sleeping in my old bed with the same window facing the unused tower and the kitchens and listening to the people of the castle milling about in the morning as they start their duties and smelling the morning meal as it was being prepared. I was looking forward to that.” She finished pleating her hair for bed and wrapped herself in an extra sleeping robe. She mocked Gendry and the walls of Winterfell were indeed far warmer and more forgiving than the tents they had traveled in, but the novelty of the cold was waning and succumbed to the dire need to be a little more than just warm enough as she slept. She was not immune to the comforts of a castle.

“What is outside this window?” Gendry had also just finished his preparations for their slumber, stopping at the water basin to rinse his face before joining her at the foot of the bed.

Arya had not looked yet, too focused on the nearly forgotten memories that continued to flash before her eyes with every corner turned in the castle. “I guess we will find out in the morning.”

From the same trunk, she found her sleeping robe, Arya retrieved one for Gendry as well. She held it up for him as he approached her. He lit up once he realized what it was, turning and sliding his arms into the sleeves. He wrapped it tight around himself and cooed. “This is nice. I like this.”

Arya laughed lightly, and they both went to their respective sides of the bed. As Gendry lifted the furs and sheets and situated himself on his pillow, he continued to hold the sheets up with an expectant look at Arya as she laid on her pillow on her side of the bed.

They blinked at each other several times before Gendry blushed in the dim light of the fire from the other side of the chambers. 

“Oh, I. I assumed… but you’re right. With the fire and the stone walls.” Gendry’s words were not making sense until Arya realized he had thought she would continue their sleeping arrangements from the road. “We’ll be very warm tonight.”

Arya smiled at him and his embarrassment, scooting over to his side even though his southern blood was safe from freezing in his veins this night. She had been enjoying the closeness as well, so this bore no onus as a wife.

Gendry immediately moved his arm so she could position herself in the crook of his shoulder. He tucked the furs around their shoulders and then wrapped his arms tight around Arya as she wrapped her arm tight around his chest. Neither had been this warm in weeks. 

“I think I am starting to understand the appeal you northerners seem to have for the cold,” Gendry mused quietly into the dim room. “It’s a different kind of warmth like this. In King’s Landing, the heat is sticky and sharp. In the North, with the fire and the furs and another body pressed up against you, the warmth is warmer. If that makes any sense.” He laughed wryly at himself.

Arya ruminated on his words and found she agreed. “I think I know what you mean. There is something softer about the heat you can find in the North. In the South, the sun beats on you and it is almost punishing. Up here, you have to earn being warm. You have to make your fire, catch the animals for their furs, find someone to keep you warm.”

“Nothing is promised here, and it makes everything you earn a little sweeter. I see why Northerners are a proud people. They have a lot to make them feel pride.” Gendry yawned on his last word, and it made Arya yawn after him.

“You’re going to feel a lot more of that pride when we go further north to the Wall.”

“The Wall?” Gendry asked with trepidation. 

“You were so excited about going not half a year ago.”

“Aye, that was before I knew what it meant to be cold.”

“Well, I spoke with Jon and he said he will bring us with him when he returns. In a few months, it will be winter and nearly impassable until it relents, so we must go now or miss our chance.”

“You’re right. We wanted to see the Wall, so we will. I’ll need warmer clothes. What I’ve brought has been entirely useless.”

“It has been your blood that has been useless, dear husband.”

Gendry huffed. “Your southern mother’s blood seems to have gotten used to the cold.”

“She has lived here for many years,” Arya quipped with her own huff and a smile. “Father built a sept for her because she missed her home and worshipped different gods. She has never spoken of it, but I imagine the transition was difficult. It took me years in King’s Landing before I felt like it was a place I did not hate. It still does not feel like my home, but it is now a place I can live comfortably. Ideally, it will become a home for me over time.”

“I had never left King’s Landing before this trip. I had never left Flea Bottom before your father called me into the throne room all those months ago. It never felt like a home, and the Red Keep doesn’t really feel like one either if I’m honest.” He seemed to think for a moment. “But, I meant what I said earlier. This place feels like a home. Or, at least, your family feels like a home.”

Arya tipped her head back to look at Gendry. Felling her move, he looked down to meet her gaze. “They are your family, too, now. I am your family, and they are my family, so you are one of us. You’re pack, Gendry. That means something to me.”

Gendry took a deep breath in and let it out in a big whoosh. He gave Arya a small, sad smile and pressed a kiss to her hairline. Arya closed her eyes as he did and settled back on his shoulder when he pulled away and laid back down on his pillow. It was the first kiss shared between the two, and Arya thought it was perfectly sweet.

Gendry mused further, “Maybe home is the people around you. A home is family and loved ones, wherever you are.” 

“I like that,” Arya said. She could not remember being happier than she had been today with her whole family reunited and safe. Every moment was filled with laughter and yelling and warmth. If home was people, this was the most home she could feel at this point in her life. She liked the idea that with marrying Gendry, she had made her family bigger. She made her home bigger. One day they would have children of their own and home would grow even more. One day Sansa and Robb and Bran and Rickon would all marry and have children and home would be so large it could never be in one place, but maybe that was okay. Her love for her family did not lessen with distance. When they all parted in four months when she, Gendry, father, and Sansa would return to King’s Landing, she would carry her love in her heart and so her home would be in her heart wherever she went. 

Until then, until she was forced to part from them and carry them all with her in memory until they may all meet again, as she suspected this would likely be the last time in a very, very long time they would all share a single roof, she would soak in every moment and every laugh and every shout. 

Arya snuggled into Gendry’s warm shoulder and sighed with a smile on her face as she looked forward to the days to come.

-

In the morning, Arya found that their chamber windows faced the East. The morning sun shone in first pink then orange then yellow and then finally the full light of day. The gentle waking from the sun’s light filtering in through the slats of the shuttered window filled her with a pleasantness she relished in. 

Sounds of shuffling and hurrying wafted up and through the window. Arya could hear two men arguing and a woman shouting at them to quit their squabbling and get back to work. 

The earthy smell of woodsmoke wafted into the room like a promise of a hard day’s work ahead.

Gendry stirred against her, blinking a sleepy hello to her when she looked up to his face only inches from hers. She basked in their shared warmth in the fresh light of the morning. Gendry gathered her up closer to himself and then turned his face toward the window so the two could watch the sunrise together the best they could through the shutters.

She was not exactly the same girl that left Winterfell all those years ago. She was still Arya Stark, but she was taller and older and happier. Change can be good, she thought.

She loved her new room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to level with you guys, the whole function of going north, plot-wise, was to get them to the cuddles. And damn do I love them some cuddles.


	3. At the Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cold gets colder as the future king and queen travel farther north to the Wall. 
> 
> If the princess were a flame, then the prince was her shield, and there is no place for a blade in a bedroll.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a little worried this chapter is boring, so please let me know if it rings a little dull. It was a labor of love to write, but upon rereading it, I worry not much interesting really happens. And, if I want to grow as a writer, you guys need to be honest with me!

The weeks passed easily in Winterfell. Most days Arya found herself riding or training or chatting with the people of the castle. She enjoyed most to sit with Robb and father as they took petitions from the people of the North. It reminded her of when she was a small girl before she had left for King’s Landing and would sit almost just like this but instead with just father as he listened to his people. Robb was firm but fair in his judgments, and he made Arya and father proud. 

A few years ago, she and Sansa had found a truce of sorts to sharing each other’s company while still enjoying their preferred pastime. They would find a room with a lively fire, a large chair, and open space. Sansa would sit in the chair sewing and stitching intricate designs and new garments. In the open space, Arya would practice her water dancing with her own Needle. Sometimes, they would speak of their days and the people they had seen or the books they had read. Others, they would together enjoy the sounds of their work. The pull of thread through fabric and the snap of string on a finished line of stitching along with the swish of steel through the air and the taps of socked feet on carpeted rugs. The two sisters, who had for so long in their youth only waged wars with their words and their yells and their slaps, now enjoyed this gentle symphony of their work. Arya enjoyed this softness that had grown between them in recent years. 

Arya showed Gendry the intricate pulley system in the forge as she had promised, and he became enraptured by it. He had so many and such detailed questions for the smiths that he seemed to forget Arya was there at all at that first visit. She just laughed at his enthusiasm and left him to his fun. 

Some mornings, she, Jon, Bran, and Rickon would practice swordplay in the training yard. There were murmurs around them when they would do this at Arya’s presence. Though her father had allowed her to hold a sword and learn to use it properly, the people of Winterfell were still unaccustomed to seeing a woman so adept with a weapon let alone a woman wearing breeches to do so. However, those murmurs stayed murmurs and no one took action to stop her. No one would dare tell their princess and future Queen to not do as she wished. 

No one except her lady mother. While she allowed her husband to indulge their daughter in her heart’s desires, she would not allow Arya to gather crowds in their castle as she defied all that it meant to be proper. If mother caught any wisps of any whispers of Arya in the yard with her brothers, she would rush to put an end to it.

Arya quickly began to anticipate mother’s intervention and would flee at her appearance, usually to go find Gendry and force him to make her excuses to his good mother. Mother had taken Gendry into her heart as her own and could scold him as well as any of her other children, but Gendry had a way with her that she could not resist. While fortunate, this had surprised Arya after the years of hostility toward Jon from her. Arya wondered if mother’s enmity toward her husband’s bastard son had not been about him being a bastard but rather more about him being of her husband. She had not been this warm to Theon when he had been a trueborn son of a highlord of a great house. Though, Theon had been a scoundrel and whoremonger, while Gendry was an earnest and proud man. Mother could not help but yield under his clear but bashful gaze as he swore he had not seen Arya since the morn as Arya hid underneath a clothed table with her hand over her mouth to muffle her heavy breaths. 

When mother would leave, Arya would burst from under the table laughing and bright red from the excitement. Gendry would rebuff her merriment, lamenting how she would always make him lie and how much he hated that, especially to Catelyn. He had heard of the way she treated Jon and feared to give Catelyn any reason to change her mind of him. Arya would just laugh some more and then ask him how his day had been, to which he would feign his further annoyance until he could not resist telling her about everything that had happened to him since they had parted that morning.

Each night, Gendry would hold up their furs, and each night Arya would slide across their bed to pull herself close to him. She could not decide which was her favorite when they were both on their sides with Arya pressed against Gendry’s back or when she would tuck herself into his side as he laid on his back with his arms wrapped around her shoulders.

One evening, she had wondered aloud if they could switch who held whom, with Gendry at her back. He had blushed furiously and staunchly refused with stuttering excuses. Arya rolled her eyes at his strong refusal but did not push. Her husband was a strange man, and she was coming to accept that at every new strangeness she found of him.

-

Jon’s time to return to his duties as a Brother of the Night’s Watch came sooner than some wanted and not soon enough for others. 

Gendry grumbled throughout the entire process of packing for their trip to the Wall. 

“It’s not that I don’t want to see the Wall. Just don’t want to sleep in a tent again. I don’t like forgetting what it means to be warm.” He threw an extra set of furs into his travel pouch, punctuating his whining. 

“We will have to sleep in a tent to get back to King’s Landing regardless, so there is no use in whinging about a few extra days,” Arya did her best to reason with him, but she could not truly make herself pity her poor southern husband. 

Gendry stopped his packing to fix a scowl at Arya over his shoulder. “’m not _whinging_. But if I was, there is plenty use in it. It will be an extra few _weeks_ in a tent going _farther north_.”

Arya met his scowl with a smirk. “Well, aren’t you the lucky sod to have a northern princess in your furs to keep you from forgetting what it means to be warm.”

Gendry surprised her by blushing and surprised her further when he did not fight her anymore on their travel plans, instead grumbling under his breath as he resumed packing. 

He stared at his overfilled bag that would not tie closed with all the haphazardly packed extra blankets and furs he had deemed necessary for their travels. With a sudden groan, he upturned the sack and began folding them as tightly as he could.

When they both finished with their packs, with Arya’s pack significantly smaller and lighter, and had finished preparing to retire for the night, Arya watched as Gendry went to move his cloak closer to the fire so it would be warmed for their departure in the morning.

“Gendry,” Arya called.

He turned to her with expectant eyes from where he stood by the fire.

“I have something for you.” Arya went to one of her trunks and retrieved a large bundle. She brought it to Gendry and presented it to him with a bright smile. 

Gendry returned the smile as he took the bundle from her, thanking her as he did.

Arya rolled her eyes and laughed. “You don’t know what it is yet.”

“It’s still a gift,” he said defensively, but his smile was still in place.

“It is a spare of father’s,” Arya explained while Gendry unfurled the Stark cloak and held it out before him in the firelight. “He said you could borrow it for your trip to the wall since your southern Baratheon cloak is near useless north of the Neck,” she explained further. “Just like your southern blood,” she mumbled.

“I heard that,” Gendry said quietly. “But I’m too pleased to care.” Gendry wrapped the cloak around himself and turned so Arya could see him.

She felt a pang of jealousy at seeing Gendry wearing a Stark cloak while she still did not have one, but it was small. Gendry looked very handsome, standing proud with his boyish smile and bright eyes. “He also said it will likely help you better win over the Men of the Night’s Watch if they see you wearing it. They don’t really like anyone, but they dislike Starks a little less than they dislike Baratheons. Or, any southern family, really.”

Gendry took off the cloak and switched it with his own cloak from its place near the fire. “I’ll pry need the help. I’m not much good at making people like me.”

“This is true,” Arya said feigning seriousness. She cracked a smile when Gendry shot her a derisive look. “But the point of the trip is not to make them like you. We are just there to see the Wall and take petitions from the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. They will never leave their post or neglect their duty, so I doubt there is much you could do to disrupt their peace with your abrasive nature. They may actually like it, as you will fit in with them. At least from what I have heard of them from Jon. A sour bunch.”

Arya found herself howling with laughter at Gendry’s disgruntled look. 

“Come to bed, husband. Let us get our last warm night’s sleep for the next many weeks, lest you forget what warmth is during our travels.” Arya made her way to their bed. She teased him, but she too would miss the warmth of the castle. Jon had warned her that the cold at the Wall was unlike anything she could imagine. It was almost magical the way it pierced your bones and whipped at the skin of your face. Jon told her not to expect to grow accustomed to the weather during their short visit, as he had only been able to after spending an extended period of time even farther up north beyond the Wall where it was cold beyond comprehension. Returning to the Wall after that had felt like Spring. 

Gendry grumbled his whole way to their bed, but he still dutifully held up their blankets for her to cuddle him as they slept. “Winter is just one long punishment for how nice Summer is,” he griped as he turned onto his side and Arya brought herself flush against his back. She buried her nose into the back of his neck and wrapped her arms tight around his chest. 

“It’s only Autumn,” Arya whispered with a smile at her husband’s misery.

Gendry tightened his hold of her arms across his chest.

-

The journey to the Wall was exactly as bone-chilling and wind whipping as expected. The farther they trekked the louder the winds howled and the more Arya believed in the wrath of the old gods, for there must have been some rageful maleficence to cause such unnatural colds. 

Midway through their first night in the out of doors, Gendry yielded in his insistence on keeping his front away from Arya as they slept. While her northern blood had been able to bring the two the heat they needed and Gendry’s borrowed Stark cloak laid over them helped, she was still so small and their travels with Jon did not allow for the luxuries of a royal caravan. They slept in a small, two-man tent with just enough room for their shared bedroll and their packs. The tent was made from a thick animal skin rather than the traditional linen, but it was still not enough to keep the furious winds from breaking into their space and burning like a whip on any exposed skin. As the larger body, Gendry had taken to wrapping himself around and half over Arya’s smaller frame. Front to front, they would wrap their arms tight around the other. Arya tucked her legs between Gendry’s thick ones, and they buried their faces into each other’s necks.

It was in the mornings when the chill and the winds blew with particular power and the sun had just broken over the horizon and into the tent and the two were pressed flush together, that Arya understood why Gendry had insisted on their previous sleeping arrangements. 

The first such morning, she wondered why Gendry had decided to wear his sheathed hunting blade to bed. Was he so worried for attacks in the night from wildlings or animals? She moved her leg to further investigate the oddly placed blade. It was firm but yielded to her movement, which also, in turn, resulted in a soft sigh from Gendry in his sleep against her. It was no blade digging into her thigh, but Gendry’s hardened length.

The realization brought a blush to her face and a warmth to her body that did not quite make sense. What made less sense was that she could not make herself move her leg from where it pressed firmly against him. She knew she should. She knew Gendry would be embarrassed when he woke, but her leg would not move. 

She stayed awake for minutes or an hour until the sun fully rose over the horizon and Jon and the men who had joined them could be heard preparing to break fast and tending to the horses, unable to fall back to sleep with the strange new energy that buzzed through her. 

She knew the moment Gendry began to stir because he tucked Arya closer to himself for a few moments before pulling back to look at her with sleep soft eyes. She also knew the moment he realized he had more pressed against her than he intended because his hips jerked from hers and he abruptly rolled over in their bedroll. The cool air that filled between them was jarring, and Arya jerked to rejoin Gendry and take back as much warmth as she could before they were to begin another day’s journey in the icy cold. 

Gendry’s whole body was tense, and he mumbled a very quiet, “Sorry,” to Arya as she wrapped her small body around his large one and buried her nose in the back of his neck in a familiar position. 

“Nothing to forgive,” she whispered back. Truly, though she did not fully understand the warmth that it had given her, she was grateful for it in this icy hell they had chosen to traverse. 

Eventually, they needed to leave their tent and brave the cold air and continue their journey. 

On they went, each day everyone freezing on their horses, each evening huddled around a fire sharing stories of Jon and Arya’s lives while apart, and each night Arya and Gendry curling around the other stealing and sharing all the warmth they had to offer.

On the morning of the day, they were to reach Castle Black. Jon told them it had been only ten days. Arya and Gendry balked. It had felt like a never-ending lifetime of shivering and chattering teeth. Jon took great amusement at their despair and gave them no sympathy for their troubles.

“You two are getting but a taste of the true North. Where the Freefolk roam and giants still walk the land,” Jon mused to them.

“Have you really seen a giant, Jon?” Arya asked excitedly.

“No, but I met someone who did.” Jon smiled his sad smile. He looked down at his hands for a moment and then far into the distance. 

Arya tried to look where he looked and see what he must have been seeing, but she could not see past the heavy snowfall and the blurred dotting of trees along their path. 

At Castle Black, they were met with wildly varying degrees of welcome, from open arms to open hostility. No one was particularly happy with the presence of a woman, but the promise of a petition with their future king and reassurances from their Lord Commander and his steward outweighed their misgivings.

While it was very clearly unorthodox for her to be present during those petitions, based on the vocal objections that the Men of the Night’s Watch made that explicitly stated such, Arya insisted on being present. Lord Commander Mormont laughed happily at her ire and called for order from his men. Jon tried to hide his smile from his position behind his Lord Commander, while Gendry openly smiled at her as she sat at the long table along with him in front of the Lord Commander and as Men of the Night’s Watch as could fit in the large room that functioned for meetings like these. 

Lord Commander Mormont made pleas to Prince Gendry and Princess Arya to send more men and supplies. He explained the importance and honor of their duty to protect the realm and implored them to bring his plight of being undermanned and poorly supplied to his father and to remember them when he one day takes the throne. 

Arya watched the way Gendry sat rigidly in his seat with his fists clenched tight. The requests were fair, but any reminder of the future that awaited the two stressed him.

Gendry had been getting loads of advice under the tutelage of her father as Gendry would often and Arya would occasionally join Small Council meetings.

Arya could almost hear father’s voice as Gendry spoke his words, affirming to Lord Commander Mormont that he would bring word to his father of what they ask. Though, Arya and he both knew King Robert would not give two shits about the Wall or the men manning it. The only provisions or men sent in the last half-decade had been solely due to Lord Eddard Stark being the Hand of the King and sending them on his own orders.

When they finished the petitions and had made their way back to their temporary chambers, Arya stopped Gendry before he could remove his cloak himself as he stood before the fire. Arya reached up to the leather bindings that crossed over his chest with the Stark sigil, grazing the tips of her fingers into the grooves of the direwolf head. 

Gendry stood before her, watching her hands move to the underside of the cloak to unclasp the leather straps from where they held the cloak to him. He turned to let her pull the cloak from his back. 

She held the cloak to her chest, fisting the furred collar in her hands. She began to fold the cloak before she remembered how Gendry liked to leave his cloaks near the fire to warm it for his next use of it.

Once she hung it near the fireplace, she turned back to Gendry who had surprised her by following her across the room without a word. 

He reached out to remove her cloak, though he made quick work of it unlike her. He hung it next to hers, and the two began their usual nighttime rituals, chatter soon resuming between them.

-

The view from atop the Wall was the most wondrous sight she had ever seen, followed closely by the transportation system that brought them up the hundreds of feet to see it. Arya almost wished Gendry would stop fussing over it and asking the operator questions so rapidly that the poor young man could not answer one before the next came at him, but the breathtaking light from the sun and the overwhelming vastness of it all overtook her. The land she could see could have stretched for a thousand miles or just one for monochrome landscape. The line between the white of the snow and the gray of the sky melted into one another to the point that Arya could not tell when one started and the other ended. The hazy sun shone its gossamer light over the hills and valleys of the expansive lands beyond the Wall, giving the only hints to the shape of the land and how far back it may go. Arya reached out to hold Jon’s hand as tears filled her eyes at the beauty.

Jon chuckled and squeezed her hand back. “I felt the same way the first time I saw it. There’s something about seeing the world from so far away that makes you see all the problems we worry ourselves silly over are just so small and worthless. The world is bigger than any one of us and it doesn’t care about us one bit.” Jon laughed at himself. “I know that should make me feel awful, but it makes me feel good instead. It makes me feel free. That the good or bad I do in my life, it matters because I care about it. The gods, kings and queens, they’re fuck all when we die. It’s all pointless when we die, but we still seem to _care_ anyway.” Jon smiled into the distance but then the look faded as he let out a heavy breath. He stared out with his brow furrowed and his lips pinched as if searching for something in the blank hills that would show itself if he looked hard enough. “I spent some time with the Freefolk. They do as they please, answering to no one but themselves and each other. There was good and bad with that.” He sighed a deep sigh that spoke of a heavy heart that weighed on Arya’s as well. 

Arya squeezed Jon’s hand in hers, and he squeezed back with a small smile that looked almost like a frown. “They sound like interesting people,” Arya said.

Jon nodded and blinked rapidly, eyes ceasing that searching look. “They’re not any better or worse than us. And, they have a way of looking at things, at ownership and power. They don’t care about either. You have what you have and no one can tell you shit about it. And, if they do, you fight it out.” Jon laughed at that, and Arya could not help but join him. 

Arya turned around to check on Gendry with the operator. They were still engrossed in discussion, the operator looking as deeply invested as Gendry now that he had been able to catch up to Gendry’s enthusiasm and energy. Arya doubted if Gendry had even peaked over at the view. She mused at how she often thought Jon and Gendry similar in many ways, but while Jon tried to look at the world from as far as possible for better understanding of it, Gendry looked closer for every tiny detail as if figuring out the mechanisms of the world made everything simpler somehow. 

Arya admired both men and what made them similar and different. They were her two favorite boys, and she wondered if she would ever have them in the same place with her ever again. Maybe, when she was queen, she could order his Lord Commander to send Jon to King’s Landing for Night’s Watch business. Maybe, there would be perks to being queen. Though, only if Jon wanted to come.

Arya asked Jon, “Do you wish to go back to them? Your Freefolk?”

“No,” Jon responded with a surety that belied that he this was something he had already given a great deal of thought. “My place is here with my brothers, keeping my oath and protecting the realm.” He smiled at Arya. It was truly happy, though it held the pain that always came with his smiles now. “Protecting you and your realm, little sister.”

Arya felt her chin wobbling as she looked into Jon’s eyes. When she left the Wall, she would not see Jon for a very, very long time. She pulled him into a hard hug that he returned with equal fervor.

When she pulled away from Jon, she called Gendry over to take at least one look over the Wall.

Gendry broke away from the now sad-looking operator and joined Arya and Jon. 

He looked across the vast landscape for several long moments before saying, “It’s very nice,” with finality. 

Arya balked at the understatement. 

Before she could respond, he added, “The other side is nice, too.” He gestured behind them with one hand.

The three turned around to see the sprawling countryside of the North, of the realm of the Seven Kingdoms. There were hills and valleys and mountains and rivers. There was green and brown and gray and white and blue. In her mind’s eye, Arya imagined the yellow of the sanded beaches and mountains of Dorne that she had only ever read about. She could see pinks and purples and oranges of the flowers that had been cut and brought from the Reach. It was as breathtaking as the other side but in a different way. Arya was glad she turned around and saw this, too. The world was a stunning place, and she was glad to be alive for it.

-

While their quarters in Castle Black had been far better than sleeping without walls at all, Arya and Gendry grew weary of the Men of the Night’s Watch rather quickly. They were comprised mostly of violent criminals, and this was evident in the way they leered at Arya despite her being their future queen and the way they showed no deference to Gendry.

Usually, this latter complaint would be welcomed by the two, but there was something offputting about the way they eyed him.

Arya was not scared of them, but Gendry was. It was hard to leave Jon, but his stewardship to the Lord Commander occupied most of his time anyway. Their smithy was near defunct and run by a smith so crabby even Gendry did not like the man. Arya had tried to spar with some of the men, but they either refused outright to fight her or they fought so viciously it seemed they truly meant her harm.

After a few days, they made their leave, thanking the Lord Commander for his hospitality and promising again to remember his words. Arya cried the whole of her goodbye to Jon, and she laughed when he pretended he was not crying just as hard.

-

The trek back tried its best to break Arya and Gendry with snowfall that never seemed to let up and its winds that blew and blew and then blew some more. They had hoped that, as they went farther south toward Winterfell, the cold would let up. They were not so lucky. 

Every night, Gendry would curl over and around Arya as a shield, and every night she would wrap herself as tightly as she could to him as their flame of warmth. Nearly every morning, she would wake to his hardened length pressed firmly against her leg. She felt a tugging sensation in her stomach every time she noticed it. She did not understand at all, but it brought with it the warmest she would feel for the whole day and night so she did not question it.

Gendry for his part demurred each morning, pulling his hips away and whispering words like “Sorry” and “It’s automatic.”

Each time, she could not help the wave of affection she felt for him. She would never describe Gendry as proper, but there was something deeply knightly and gentlemanly about him. A younger Arya would have banished the thought of ever being swayed by such traits, yet she still found herself immensely charmed by him and his persistent concern with her (his) modesty and her comfort concerning his body. It made her want to keep holding him tight in the morning when he would make to move away, but she did not. She still did not understand the exact feelings going through her, but she had an idea they had to do with what men and women usually did when in beds together. She knew that was not something she was prepared to begin yet, still nervous in an unpleasant way when she thought about beddings and wifely duties. So, she did not push it. She let Gendry pull away each morning, thankful for his insistent considerations for her. 

-

Sansa, mother, and father welcomed them back to Winterfell with tight hugs and kisses on heads. Mother ushered them to her and father’s solar so they could share hot meals and stories of their travels. 

Gendry mostly spoke on the unfathomableness of the cold to which all the Starks laughed. Every northerner knew of the frigid cold that characterized the land around the Wall, but the way Gendry described their little adventure made the land sound cursed and evil. Both of which may very well have been true as far as Arya was concerned. The cold had been terrible, but they had survived and it had been quite the adventure. She would never forget the view atop the Wall and how it made all the world seem much simpler like Jon had said. 

She would miss Jon so, so much. Parting this second time was nearly more painful than the first, the way he had hugged her so tightly she thought he would never let go and the way he kissed the top of her brow that made her feel as if nothing bad could happen in this world. It was bittersweet like his smile seemed to always be now. She cried into Gendry’s chest in their bedroll that first night on the road back. He held her tight and let her weep.

As they ate, Arya shared with her parents and Sansa and Bran, who had joined them about midway through their meal, the pleas from Lord Commander Mormont. 

“They need more and better men at the Wall. The ones there now are the worst Westeros has. Murderers, rapers, thieves. These are not the men to protect our realm,” Arya entreated.

Father considered Arya’s words and answered in his usual measured tone. “Ah, the Men of the Night’s Watch have been struggling for many centuries with this, Arya. While the honor and duty are great, what their vows force them to give up is often greater. Few men choose that life, and the ones who do not choose are in greater numbers but are of far lesser stock. You can speak to Robb on this matter and King Robert, but this is a problem myself, my father, and his father before him could not solve in our lifetimes. Though, fresh blood often brings new answers. I wish you luck in your endeavors, sweet one.” 

Arya looked at Gendry and knew he too understood the dilemma of the Night’s Watch. They would keep it in mind in the coming years. Nothing could be done that day, or any day soon they suspected. Winter was coming, and much of the North would be stayed until the harsh weather relented.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, forgive the excessive amount of handwaving that went on during their mini Wall arc. I fluctuated violently between wanting to explore what it would be like for them to visit and not caring at all about it since it didn’t really have anything to do with them as a couple. But I am happy with the amount of relationship development that came from it and I’m the biggest sucker in the world for Arya and Jon just talking. Especially since we didn’t get any of it at ALL in the show, but I digress.


	4. But Warmer at a Wedding.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The old gods are given their due, futures are claimed, and love blooms where it is tended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who read my story and left kudos and comments. Every single one made me so happy and so encouraged to write more. I apologize profusely for this chapter taking so long. I got started on the next part and kept finding myself needing to add little tidbits to this chapter to try to help smooth out some plot points in the next part. 
> 
> Please, enjoy this labor of love. I seriously can't write angst for the life of me, because I just can't bring myself to have them anything but disgustingly in love and living their best lives. And this is fanfiction so I get to do whatever I want and not feel bad about it haha

Arya and Gendry fell easily back into the routines they had found in Winterfell. 

Arya spent as much time with her family as possible, soaking in the new memories and grasping at the old ones that lingered in between moments and corridors. 

In King’s Landing, she would sporadically join Small Council meetings and petitions to the King but found little interest in the stuffy room and the even stuffier members of the council. 

During their time in Winterfell, Arya began to grow a strong desire to participate in the workings of ruling over her people and helping them. She would sit with Robb each day during his petitions. She saw how his decisions directly impacted the lives of his people. She could imagine how easily a careless or cruel leader could hurt their people. A sense of responsibility grew inside her to be someone to make the right decisions, to use her position and power to help.

Gendry spent his days in Winterfell learning what he could from the smiths of the castle. His apprenticeship with Tobho Mott had been for armor and weaponry, and while he would occasionally be able to sneak away to the forge in the Red Keep, he had little knowledge or skill at making practical ironwork pieces. Most of the work that came in for the smiths of Winterfell was for such pieces, so Gendry shouldered his way into their forge with sheer determination and insistence until they relented and began to show him their work and teach him their trade. 

In King’s Landing, Gendry spent near every day with Ned Stark. Most days in the Small Council learning of politicking and how to run the Seven Kingdoms. He did not enjoy these times, but he understood the value of them. He wanted to rule the kingdoms well and that was the way to do so. It also did not hurt that it clearly filled Ned Stark with pride to see Gendry striving so hard to learn to be a good ruler, and Gendry was not immune to wanting to always fill Ned Stark with pride in him. 

Gendry enjoyed taking the opportunity to somewhat reclaim his craftsman’s life. He woke early each morning to join the smiths in their forge and would help them with their daily tasks. He would break for lunch with Arya and whichever of her siblings she had been spending her day. When he would finish for the day, he supped with the Starks in their private solar. The back and forth from lowborn to highborn lifestyles wrought great turmoil within him. He spoke to Arya in their bed at night of how torn he felt going between these worlds. The one he was born into and the one he was brought into. 

Arya could not truly understand. She was born into a Great House and had never known anything else, but she listened to him every time he spoke his heart.

He yearned to return to the simplicity of his old life with its tasks with clear solutions and known executions. He feared to accept his new life with its impossible problems and unknowable outcomes.

As he straddled these two lives in Winterfell, it allowed him to see with clarity the importance of his opportunity as the Crown Prince to the Seven Kingdoms. At his core, he was a lowborn bastard who knew his people. He did not like them much and had little interest in knowing anyone personally, common folk or lords, but as long as he was the prince, and eventually the king, he would keep the common folk in his mind in his choices. He had already seen so many times when the smallfolk were forgotten while he sat in on the Small Council. He had watched his father saunter into meetings, demand expensive, impractical tournies or festivals, and then leave to continue his drinking and whoring for the day. Gendry had been astounded when members of the Small Council would grumble but comply. These were the funds from the people being spent on one man instead of it going back to them.

He hated that world, but that world also brought him Arya, he would say. He would tell her how bearable she made each day. He mused that all his days would be empty of any fun or smiles or worth without her. 

Arya liked it when he spoke this way, quiet in the night into the air above them as they shared heat and the air around them. He would say them unabashedly in a way Arya never could, though she was endlessly pleased by it. She adored how plainly he saw the world, how easily he understood it for what it was. It was so different from how Sansa saw the world as it should be or how Arya saw it as she wanted it to be. There was no rosy or gray tint before his eyes, only actuality.

He told her that when they returned to King’s Landing, he would make more of an effort, not just attend meetings and try his best not to let the boredom kill him.

Arya was excited for his commitment to his duty and told him she would begin to join him. She too wanted to leave her mark on their people, particularly the petitions. Gendry was more than excited for this. Having his best friend at the Small Council meetings and petitions would vastly improve the experience for both.

-

Their departure from Winterfell drew close, and the two grew melancholy at the prospect. The North was not perfect and the cold brought far more troubles than it did aid, but its isolation gave the region and its castle a clarity of purpose that drew many to it. 

How could one squabble about thrones and power and control when there was starvation eminent? How did one have time to plan schemes and stratagems when there was hunting to be done and leathers to be tanned?

Arya and Gendry would miss Winterfell and its black and white and gray. Most of all, Arya would miss her family, but she knew now that she kept them in her heart and that in the years to come she and Gendry would make more family as would Robb and Sansa and Bran and Rickon. She understood that things must change for that to happen and going to King’s Landing and ruling as their princess and queen would be part of that change.

-

With only a few days left in Winterfell, Sansa requested Arya to join her for the morning after they broke fast with their family. 

There was nothing unusual about this other than the extra hop in Sansa’s step and the little smiles she made to herself as they walked.

Arya eyed her sister’s back as they neared Sansa’s chambers, the ones that the two girls had once shared. “Sansa,” Arya began. “You are acting strange.”

“I do not believe I am,” Sansa smirked.

Arya made a face that felt like one she had seen Gendry make many times before. Still, she followed her sister into her room. Arya had planned to spar that morning with Bran had Sansa not invited her to join her, so she had her Needle in hand already. 

She moved to unsheathe it when Sansa put her hand on Arya’s to still it.

“I have something for you, sister,” Sansa said with delight dancing in her eyes, which struck fear in Arya’s heart.

Arya pulled away from Sansa in suspicion. “What is it?”

Sansa clapped her hands in her face and brought them to her smiling lips. “I have made something for you, and it is so very romantic.”

“Why would you make me a romantic gift?” Arya asked, getting frustrated with Sansa.

Sansa’s smile dropped. “I am explaining this poorly.” She turned on her heel and went to her desk on the other side of the room. She retrieved the large bundle that sat atop the table that Arya had not noticed when she came into the room and brought it back to Arya, holding it out for her.

Arya blinked at her sister, her hands surprising her by halting as they went to take the muslin wrapped bundle. Arya stared at it, overwhelmed already by the affection she felt for her sister at the unexpected gift. 

“I— Thank you, Sansa.” She struggled for a few moments trying to manage to unwrap the large parcel as she held it delicately in her hands despite how heavy it was.

Sansa ushered Arya toward her bed so she could lay it there to unwrap it. “Thank me once you open it.”

Arya placed it on the bed and removed each of the corners of the muslin to reveal thick folded wool, leather straps, and a fluff of wolf pelt. At the sight of the Stark sigil on the leather strap, she whipped her head to her sister.

“Sansa,” she exclaimed, her voice watery.

Sansa grinned with her whole face. “Just like father’s but your fit. I sewed it myself,” she spoke with pride.

Arya pulled the fur collar to her face and buried it, breathing in the smell of leather and fur and the hints of Sansa’s perfumes, flowery and delicate and a little woodsy. 

“Oh, Sansa,” Arya cooed as she unfurled her very own Stark cloak and wrapped it around herself.

Sansa moved to help latch the leather straps across Arya’s chest. Arya shifted it to lay comfortably and then twirled to feel its weight and just because she could. 

Sansa clapped her hands in her face in delight once again. “Oh, it is a perfect fit. I am so very glad. Do you like it?”

“Do I like it? Sansa! It is my newest most favorite thing!” Arya exclaimed laughing. She leaped into her sister’s arms, and the two laughed as they hugged each other close.

As they pulled apart, both reach up to wipe tears from their eyes.

Arya grabbed the two sides of her new cloak and wrapped them around her, giddy at the warmth of it.

She took a deep breath and remembered what Sansa said before she gave it to her. “What did you mean when you said it was romantic?”

Sansa blushed delicately as she gave Arya a coy smile. “When you and Gendry returned from the Wall, he asked me if there was a way to get you a cloak like father’s. He told me how you eyed his with deep longing, though you never said a word, and that your current cloak looked warm but short for you and a bit ragged.”

Arya clutched her chest and felt her face warm. She had no idea she had been so obvious. She had not told a single person of her desire for a Stark cloak, and Gendry saw so quickly and made sure to get her one. She blinked back tears.

Sansa went on, “I told him I would make it myself, and it took near two moons but I finished it in time for our departure. You may have married a Baratheon, but you are a Stark. More so than any of the rest of us, and I want you to have something so no one else dares to forget.”

Arya wrapped her arms around her sister again and squeezed as tightly as she could. She was so grateful for her sister, so grateful to have this wonderful token of her life here in Winterfell. It was something she could take with her south and look upon any time she missed her childhood home and remember who she was.

She was struck by her sister’s kind gift, but even more so, she was struck by Gendry. Most husbands would take offense at his wife wanting to hang on to the house in which she was born. Most husbands would sneer at his wife clinging to her family and childhood in such a way. But, Gendry was different. He saw her longing and took action to help her keep ties to her past, to a part of herself that she felt was a part of her core. 

Gendry was her friend, her best friend, and she was his. He was her pack, her family, and they would make a family together someday. She remembered back to their wedding, how it was before the new gods and how she wondered if their marriage still meant anything if the old gods were not there to witness it. She had been hopeful that that meant if she hated her husband, if he hurt her or made her be someone she was not, she could still run away to the North and the old gods would not hold her to her oaths to other gods they did not know. 

But Gendry did not hurt her; he did not ask her to be anyone but Arya. He helped her remember that she was Arya no matter on what throne she sat. 

She wanted the old gods to know. She wanted to swear to them she would care for this man to the end of her days, that she would protect him and be his as he would be hers.

“Sansa,” she said, grabbing her old cloak and making her way to the door. “Meet me in the godswood as soon as you can.”

Arya ran out and hurried down the corridor. “What’s happening? That is not the way to the godswood!” Arya turned her head to see Sansa’s head poking out from her doorway, hair cascading down behind her.

“I need Gendry,” Arya called over her shoulder just before she turned a corner.

-

Arya found Gendry exactly where she expected him to be: at the forge.

When she entered, she had to wait before calling out to him as he poured molten iron into a mold with steady hands and focused eyes.

When he finished and put the casting pot aside, she called his name.

His head shot up to her, and he smiled. “I don’t usually see you around here.”

His sweat-soaked hair fell in front of his eyes, and he swiped it away with the back of his hand as he continued to smile at Arya.

She was momentarily struck by how much of his sweat dripped down into his loose, dirty tunic. 

As he reached for a cloth to wipe his hands and dry his face and neck, Arya found her words. “Grab your cloak and come with me.” She made to leave, but when she saw he did not follow, she turned to him with raised brows.

“Is something wrong?” he asked as he continued to stand there in the middle of the forge, comfortable and sturdy as all be.

She went to him and grabbed his wrist, tugging him along. “Come on. Where’s your cloak?” They had garnered the attention of the other smiths.

“Arya,” he said quietly, going along with her for a step but then stopping and pulling his wrist so she faced him.

She rolled her eyes and bit her lip, moving to stand close in front of Gendry. Quietly, so others could not overhear, she started, “Gendry.” She looked straight ahead at his chest, finding it easier to look at than his eyes. “Do you want to be married to me?” she asked seriously. 

“Yes,” he said without hesitation. She looked up to see his surprised expression. 

She tugged his hand again. “Then come with me. We need to tell the old gods. So, we will be married for true.”

He came along easily now, reaching out to grab his borrowed Stark cloak as they passed it on their way out.

There was a thick layer of snow on the ground, but the air was crisp and dry. The gray-blue sky was bright and clear as they left the forge. Arya still held Gendry’s wrist as they made their way through the grounds. 

About halfway to the godswood, Gendry pulled her to a stop along the external catwalk along the First Keep. She whipped around ready to start using force to get him to move his stubborn bull arse but halted at the shy smile on his face.

“Your cloak,” he said, his eyes roaming over it.

Arya smiled back up at him. “How did you know?” she asked with wonder.

Gendry shrugged and demurred, “You kept looking at my cloak all sad and wistful. And, your old cloak was too small and frayed at the bottom. I thought you’d like a new one.” He shrugged again, shrinking slightly under her unwavering gaze.

A big ball of warmth filled her chest and made her feel as if she would float up and away with it. Dropping Gendry’s hand, she rushed forward to wrap her arms around his middle. Gendry hugged her back, squeezing her tight to him and lifting her from the ground for just a moment. Arya laughed at the surprise of the movement and sighed when she rested back on the ground, giving Gendry one last squeeze before taking his hand back into hers and returning to their trek to the godswood.

Gendry twisted his wrist so that they instead held hands, palm to palm with their fingers wrapped around the other’s hand.

“Does this mean you have not considered us married this whole time?” Gendry asked.

“In a way. Married in the South but not in the North. If that makes sense,” Arya said.

“It doesn’t,” Gendry said a little annoyed.

Arya maintained their pace but turned her head for a moment to gauge Gendry’s reaction before turning back.

“Oh, don’t be that way,” she said into the air in front of her.

“I’ve thought us married for near ten moons now, and all along you thought we were half married. As if that’s a thing. You know, marriage means something to me. Like pack means something to you.” Gendry sounded put out, and that was not what she meant by all this.

Arya stopped and turned to Gendry. She looked around to make sure no one joined them in the external catwalk. She stepped closer and spoke earnestly. “You misunderstand me,” she said as she looked hard into his eyes and he swallowed. “Ten moons ago, we swore before the Seven to be wed. But we did not know each other. We had never spoken. We were making a promise that I would be your wife. With the old gods, we promise to be each other’s.” Arya squeezed Gendry’s hand between them. “We promise to love each other.”

Arya held his gaze as he swallowed again and his chin quivered ever so slightly. He nodded firmly once, and Arya took a deep breath before turning to resume their walk to the godswood, hand in hand.

-

“Arya, I’m not dressed for this,” Gendry whined from behind her.

As they entered the godswood, Arya enjoyed the crush of snow under each footstep. She noticed there was already a set of footprints. She smiled to herself that Sansa was ready at the weirwood tree.

The white tree with red leaves the shape of hands came into view along with Sansa’s red Tully hair. At the sound of their footsteps, Sansa turned to them with a smile. 

“This is terribly romantic,” Sansa sighed when Arya and Gendry drew near.

“I should be dressed better,” Gendry whined again.

Arya huffed and turned to him. “You’re fine, Gendry. Seven Hells, the old gods do not care what you wear.”

“I do,” Gendry bit back, tugging up the loose collar of his dirty shirt in an attempt to cover the exposed parts of his chest. Arya could see his light sprinkling of chest hair poking out despite his best efforts.

“You looked rather proper at our last wedding,” Arya offered.

Gendry rolled his eyes and huffed as he retucked his shirt into his trousers, which were also dirty with soot and sweat.

Arya looked to Sansa for help, but she was eyeing at Gendry’s clothes with a disparaging look to match his.

Arya slapped his hands away from his clothes. When he stopped and gave her a disgruntled look, she beckoned him to lean down to her. With his head within reach, Arya ran her fingers through his ever-growing hair, smoothing it back from his eyes. She cared not for any part of his appearance this morning, but she did want to see his eyes. They were ice blue and so, so pretty as they stared back at her inches away. She already felt the warmth of his skin against hers in the cold Northern air.

She gripped his head between her hands. “_You_ and _me_. That is all that matters for this. And Sansa and the tree. But you and me and our promises to each other.” Gendry nodded and placed his hands over hers. Arya leaned her forehead against his and closed her eyes. She took a steadying breath and felt him do the same. She spoke softly, “For a Northern wedding, we will promise to be each other’s, Sansa will help us with the vows, I will give Sansa my old cloak as my maiden’s cloak, and then we kneel before the heart tree and pray to the old gods.”

“What do I pray?” Gendry asked just as softly.

“You tell them who you are and why you come to them. You pray to them to bless our marriage. When we are done, we stand up and you carry me back to the castle.” Arya opened her eyes and huffed a laugh. Gendry’s face blurred from the closeness, but she could still see how he kept his eyes closed and grinned wide and lopsided. How had she never noticed the tiny brown speckles on his cheeks and across his nose? Had she never been this close to his face?

He opened his eyes and pulled his forehead from hers just far enough to place his lips to her brow. 

Sansa sighed dreamily as they pulled away from each other to make their oaths to the gods. “That is not exactly how it is supposed to go,” she said with a wry smile.

“I think the gods will forgive us,” Arya grumbled as she and Gendry stepped to stand in front of the weeping face of the heart tree.

Sansa mumbled more to herself from behind them, “To my understanding, they are not the sort.”

Arya saw Gendry look at Sansa with worry. Arya tugged his hand to garner his attention. When he looked back to her with his worried brow, she said firmly, “The old gods do not care for ceremony. They care for respect and what they see as their due. We are humbling ourselves by asking for their blessing in our marriage and giving them our oaths to care for and love each other until the end of our days.” Gendry squeezed her hand. “We are giving them something to remember, and they will hold our oaths for us.”

Gendry held her hard stare for a few moments and then leaned forward to place another kiss on her brow. “I’m ready,” he said to her.

They turned to stand across from each other, and Arya maneuvered her old cloak to drape over her arm and joined both their hands. Arya remembered the important requirements for their oaths, though the exact details of the ceremony escaped her. She expected Sansa would know, but she figured it was too late to ask. Arya wanted to begin.

Arya took a deep breath. “I am Arya of House Stark.”

When Gendry blinked at her, she gestured for him do go on with their joined hands.

“I am Gendry of House Baratheon,” he said slowly, unsure of what words he was supposed say but trying his best. It brought a watery smile to Arya’s face.

“I am Sansa of House Stark,” Sansa said from beside them. "Who comes to join this man?"

"I do," Arya said, voice clear and strong.

"Who comes to join this woman?" Sansa spoke.

"I do," Gendry said, soft but sure.

“Repeat my words,” Arya said to him, and he nodded. “I am his.”

He stumbled for a moment, correcting the words for himself. “I am hers.”

“And he is mine.”

He does not stumble this time, and his voice rang out strong and clear. “And she is mine.”

Arya turned to Sansa to hand over her old cloak which stood in for her maiden’s cloak.

Arya grasped at the far away memories from when she was a girl and Septa Mordane had strung tales of beautiful Northern weddings and the dutiful brides to the Kings in the North. She was sure there were indeed more words to be said, but she could not recall and Sansa offered none. She knew for certain, however, they had said what the gods needed to know. There should have been more exchanging of cloaks, but that was all symbolism and pageantry. They spoke their oaths for the old gods, and oaths and blood were all their gods held sacred. Arya did not want Gendry to wrap his Baratheon or borrowed Stark cloak around her. She had her own Stark cloak to bear her ever allegiance to the North, to her family and her gods. She was swearing herself to this man as he swore himself to her, but neither of those oaths took her from her bloodright. Her children would bear the name Baratheon, but as the future queen, she would always bear the name Stark and her children will always know the cloak she wore.

When Arya felt confident all that needed to be done had been done, she tugged Gendry’s hands to join her in kneeling before the face of the heart tree.

It looked at them with its bloody tears and carved smile. Arya prayed that they would see their marriage and protect them and their children. She prayed for guidance as she traveled south in a few days and left their domain. She promised to honor them in her heart despite going so far from them. She hoped they would forgive her for this and hear her prayers.

After a few more quiet moments, Arya moved to stand up, and Gendry stood with her and turned to look at her with shining eyes.

“Wife,” he said with a stupid smile that she was sure was mirrored on her own face. 

“Husband,” Arya said back in the same dopey voice.

-

“I have a strong desire to burn it,” Arya mused in their chambers that evening.

Gendry made an unflattering spluttering noise. “That’s ridiculous.”

Arya held up her girlhood cloak in the light of the fire, eyeing it as she turned it this way and that. “It would be wonderfully symbolic. Burning my girlhood to walk into my womanhood.”

“I don’t think burning your cloak will be what makes you a woman grown. I think it makes you dumb,” Gendry mumbled from their bed, already tucked in and comfortable as he watched her at the fire

Arya laughed. “That is no way to speak to your new bride,” she chastised with good humor.

“Good thing you’re not my new bride,” he snorted.

“I am to the old gods, and they are a great deal more wrathful than your southern gods.”

“They’re not my gods!” he defended. “I don’t really care much for any of the gods, but I guess you’re right that I still shouldn’t piss them off. So put that cloak down not in the fire and come to bed. Shut me up so as I might not incur more wrath from your gods.” Gendry emphasized his request by patting her usual spot in the bed with a heavy hand. 

Arya relented her musings and wrapped her old cloak up tight, placing it on a chair as she crossed the room to join Gendry.

He lifted the furs for her to crawl in and tuck herself into his side. He wrapped his arms around her tight, and she shifted to lay more of her body across his.

Gendry’s chest tightened for a moment beneath her before he spoke quietly into the night air above them. “Thank you. For today. For letting me know you choose me and letting me let you know I choose you.”

Arya’s chest felt tight. She buried her nose into his neck and breathed in his scent. “Thank you for choosing me, too,” she spoke into his skin.

Gendry ran a hand up and down her back underneath the furs.

Arya felt his jaw working as if he had more to say, but instead, he stopped and relaxed into the bed and her embrace.

“Goodnight, Gendry. I am glad to be married to you,” Arya said as she closed her eyes and smiled into his neck.

“Goodnight, Arya. I am glad to be married to you, too.”

Arya felt the muscles in his neck pull as he smiled.

-

The day for their departure from Winterfell came sooner than anyone wished.

The day before they were set to leave, Gendry found Arya as she left the Great Hall with Robb and her father after they had finished with the petitions for the day.

She smiled when she saw him and noticed he had changed from the usual clothes he wore in the forge into fresh linens and leather. She leaned her cheek toward him so he could kiss it, which he did quickly. 

When he leaned back up, he greeted Robb and father. As Robb and father made their way to Robb’s chambers for the remainder of the afternoon, Gendry gestured over his shoulder with his arm.

“I’ve got something for you in our chambers,” he left off his words like a question.

Arya picked up her skirts, striding past Gendry to their chambers without looking back at him.

Gendry laughed as he caught up. “I didn’t figure you like a girl so eager for gifts.”

“Not usually, no. But as of late, I have been receiving exceptionally fine gifts from you,” she peeked at him from the side of her eye with a sly smile. “So, forgive me for my eagerness.”

“As m’lady commands,” he said with a small mocking bow as he walked.

Without missing a step, Arya stuck out her foot in front of Gendry’s, resulting in him stumbling but righting himself quickly.

His scowl would have been more effective if his eyes were not smiling so brightly.

When they reached their room, Gendry went straight for a bundle on their bed. Arya followed him and peeked around his side as he drew out the corners of the linen. 

On the bed were laid a set of five small knives. Arya gasped and shouldered Gendry out of the way. She ran her fingers over the knives as Gendry chuckled behind her.

“They’re throwing knives. Thought they were something you’d enjoy.” 

Arya looked at Gendry over her shoulder with slack-jawed joy.

“Made them myself,” he said with his chest puffed with pride. 

She immediately picked one up and whipped it at the wooden shutters of their window with a sharp whistle as it flew. The handle of the blade thunked against the wood and it fell to the floor with a clatter. Arya reached for another, and this time the sharp tip of the throwing knife sunk into the wood.

Arya turned back to Gendry to see him as flush as she.

“I like them very much,” she told him, and he grinned.

As Arya continued to throw the remainder of the knives at the shutters, Gendry continued to speak.

“I was thinking,” he began. “The godswood in the Red Keep. It has a heart tree, but it’s not a weirwood.”

“It’s an oak,” Arya supplied as she went to the shutters to retrieve the knives. 

“Aye. Would you want a weirwood tree there as well?” Gendry asked as Arya returned to stand beside him to throw her knives again.

Arya cocked her head as she threw the first knife, pleased with the sound the blade made as it bit into the wood and with the idea Gendry proposed.

“Mayhap, we could bring a sapling back with us and plant it upon our return? Or, cut a branch from your family’s tree? Bring a piece of our time here back with us.” Gendry sounded hopeful and boyish, and Arya put down her new knives. 

She turned to Gendry, eyeing him hard. His hands fidgeted together at her lack of response. 

For a moment, Arya wondered if she was in a dream. If she was still four and ten and Sansa was still to marry Prince Joffrey and she still wanted to run off into the Riverlands to find Nymeria or to Braavos to become a Bravo. 

Arya watched the man before her, tall and wide and bashful and thoughtful. He was hers and she was his, and that was the best thought in the whole of the world. 

Arya rushed toward Gendry and leaped up into his surprised arms. She squeezed her arms tight around her neck and wrapped her legs around his waist. She peppered sweet kisses to his cheek, and Gendry feigned annoyance at her antics, laughing as Arya cackled in his arms. 

“So, you would like the weirwood?” he asked still laughing.

“Oh, you are a stupid man.”

-

Their departure was filled with many tears and many long hugs.

Father, Sansa, Arya, and Gendry said goodbye to the other Starks in the courtyard of Winterfell. The night before, more private farewells were made, yet the morning still held such bittersweetness. 

While Arya and Gendry had been at the Wall, a marriage alliance for Sansa had been made with Willas Tyrell, future Lord Paramount of the Reach and Lord of Highgarden. By the time they would be married, Sansa would be eight and ten. While it had been barely a year since her broken betrothal with the All-Lannister-Prince, Sansa had been more than pleased with the match, though understandably still apprehensive until she could meet the man herself.

They had heard nothing but good words for the man. His leg had been crippled when he was a young man in a tourney, but his nature remained gentle and kind. At least, so said his younger sister, Margaery Tyrell, as well as Gendry's Uncle Renly's good friend, Loras Tyrell, his younger brother. 

Margaery and Sansa had grown close in the months before they left King’s Landing. S he had confided in Sansa that she had originally been sent there to try to win the new Crown Prince’s favor before the wedding and make herself the future queen. She apparently had laughed as she explained that she had only managed to make acquaintance with him once and he frowned the whole time she spoke. She had been so caught off guard from his immunity to her charm, that when he walked away without saying a word she did not even try to stop him. 

Gendry did not recall this encounter when asked about it.

Mother and Bran were set to join them in the coming months for the wedding and then for Bran to squire a knight of the Kingsguard thereafter, so their goodbyes were genuine but far lighter. 

-

Each day of their snowy, month-long journey south, Arya checked on her weirwood sapling. It warmed her heart to know she would be able to bring the old gods south with them.

Sansa abhorred whenever Arya would practice with her throwing knives, but Arya would just laugh at her sour faces and put upon words.

The air warmed as they passed the Neck and left the North. No longer was there a need in Arya and Gendry’s cot for shared warmth, but the two still held each other close each night. 

Married before the old gods and the new, they were Arya and Gendry and husband and wife. 

Winterfell had been home and family and love. The Wall had been both magnificent and pathetic. Their travels had brought them closer, physically and in their hearts. Gendry had been her friend since that first night, but now they were closer. He was her chosen, and she was his. Their vows meant more to her when spoken with full hearts. 

-

With their return to King’s Landing and its politicking and its heat and metropolitan citizens, Arya and Gendry felt different. They were still themselves, but the city and their responsibilities and their roles felt more like their own. They were nowhere near ready to be a king or a queen, but it felt more like their futures now. 

They were ready to face their futures, hand in hand, whatever that meant for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it! Thank you so much for sticking with me for this! I will be working at the next part which I really, really think will finally get to the smut I've been promising for almost 40,000 words. If that's something anyone is particularly interested in, I wrote a silly little one-shot of a Gendrya Modern AU that is 10000% PWP to tide you over haha  
Also, I made it so the titles of the chapters together make a sentence, and I think that is very fun lol

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I am on tumblr by the same name <3<3<3<3


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